


Scarred

by gwinne



Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-26
Updated: 2018-06-26
Packaged: 2019-05-29 00:10:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,523
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15060803
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gwinne/pseuds/gwinne
Summary: Another post-ep for "DeadAlive."  I've always thought the show was a bit too cavalier with these characters' inevitable scarring and PTSD.





	Scarred

SCARRED

* * *

As for me. . .  
I'm fine. I have bad dreams, but I never saw Mister  
Duck again. I play video games. I smoke a little dope. I  
got my thousand-yard stare. I carry a lot of scars.  
I like the way that sounds.  
I carry a lot of scars.

\--Alex Garland

* * *

When he got back, his apartment smelled different. There  
was the same musty scent of used books and unaired  
rooms--Scully called it "eau de bachelor pad" in one of her  
goofier moods. And, as opened the bedroom door, there was  
a familiar hint of laundered sheets and her perfume.  
Still, there was something different, and it wasn't a  
bouquet of the paranormal kind. Pinesol, Lemon Scented  
Pledge, and lots of bleach. 

She'd cleaned. Not just a quick once-over with a mop, but  
really cleaned, the kind of cleaning that you only give  
your apartment when you're ready to move out, making sure  
to get the last trace of mildew in the tub so you don't  
lose your security deposit. Oh.

He didn't really want to think about that now. He didn't  
really want to think about that ever. He was home, Scully  
was asleep in his bed, and their kid was asleep inside her.  
Nothing else mattered.

Mulder set the Dunkin Donuts box on the foot of the bed,  
took a sip of coffee--vaguely burnt, but still the best  
thing he'd tasted in ages--and then held the cup under  
Scully's nose.

"Morning sunshine," he said, when her eyes opened. She  
grunted something unintelligible as a response and shut her  
eyes again. He decided to try a more direct approach. He  
broke one of the six chocolate donuts in half and spread  
custard on Scully's lips. Then he kissed it off.

"Mmmm," she said and kissed him back. This was more like  
it.

"I thought you might be hungry."

"Donuts, Mulder?" Her voice cracked with disuse.

"Half a dozen custard-filled, two raspberry-filled, one  
with multicolored sprinkles, a twisty tiger striped one,  
one cinnamon and sugar thingy, and your classic chocolate  
cake with white icing."

An eyebrow raised suspiciously. "You got a dozen?"

"I wasn't sure what kind you'd want." He shrugged.  
"Coffee? I got you a large."

"Mulder, I . . ." 

"Don't worry," he interrupted. "It's decaf."

* * *

"Looking for cases already?" Scully snuck up behind him and  
kissed the back of his neck. "You're supposed to be  
resting."

"Just doing a little research. I was thinking maybe we  
could go away for a little while. There's this walking  
tour called 'A Ghostly Experience' down in St. Augustine,  
Florida." Mulder turned from the computer screen to look  
at her, still wearing his t-shirt and pajama bottoms in the  
middle of the afternoon. 

"The highlight of the trip, of course, would be staying in  
the St. Francis Inn," he said in his slide-show voice.  
"Built in 1791, it's a charming Bed and Breakfast which  
functions as home to Lilly, one of the many local ghosts  
or, if you prefer, spirits." She rolled her eyes and he  
continued. "And perhaps after dining at one of St.  
Augustine's finest restaurants we might take a stroll to  
Ripley's Believe It Or Not, featuring Beauregard, a  
six-legged cow."

"Well, Mulder, if the FBI doesn't pan out you might have a  
career as a tour guide. Or a dairymaid. What is it with  
you and cows anyway?"

"Really, Scully, it sounds like a cool little town. We  
could go down there, eat some sea food, you could get soak  
up some rays, lie around on the beach in one of those cute  
maternity bathing suits."

"Now that's a lovely image."

"No?"

"It's a nice idea, Mulder, really it is. But I'm on leave  
soon anyway and there's not much chance an airline would  
let me on a plane, no matter how many badges you wave in  
their face. How about something a little closer to home?"

Scully loved water, the baby wasn't due for nine weeks, and  
Skinner had told her to take as much time as she wanted  
during Mulder's own unspecified medical leave. What was  
she not telling him?

He'd read "What to Expect When You're Expecting" in the  
hospital and was working his way through "My Wife Is Having  
a Baby and I'm Having a Nervous Breakdown," courtesy of  
Langly. Inexperienced as he was at this whole father-to-be  
thing, his Scully radar told him that there was something  
spooky hiding behind door number two.

He pulled her down onto his lap. "Mulder, I'm too heavy."

"Relax, Scully. I'm not going to break. What's wrong?"

She paled and headed back toward the bedroom. "I don't  
think I should have eaten all those donuts." Not exactly  
the answer he was looking for, but definitely better than  
"I'm fine." "Do you have any Pepto Bismol?" Deflect and  
redirect; she had denial down to a science.

He followed her as she walked, captivated by the way her  
back curved to accommodate the added weight of pregnancy.  
"Check the medicine cabinet. I'm not sure what I have  
anymore. Doggett certainly did a number on this place when  
I was gone. What the hell was he looking for anyway?"

He leaned in the bathroom door while Scully stood on her  
tiptoes until she saw pink. Her cotton shirt stretched up  
as she reached for the bottle, and Mulder stared at the  
tattoo on her lower back. In the week he'd been out of the  
hospital, he still hadn't seen her naked, and curiosity was  
getting the better of him. "This expired three years ago,  
Mulder." She tossed it casually into the garbage and  
turned to face him. 

"You want me to go to the store?" All those pregnancy for  
dummies books were very clear about volunteering to do  
household chores and generally being solicitous, even when  
the mother-to-be carried a gun and could probably out-lift  
him at the gym.

She laughed, just a smile and a quick puff of air, but it  
was enough to lighten the mood. "What?" he asked.

"It's just," she started and stopped, running her finger  
over some droplets of water on the sink. "It's just that  
I've waited a long time to hear you say that." Her eyes  
turned dark as a mood-ring.

He took her hand and tugged her along until they were back  
on the couch. "Tell me."

"Tell you what, Mulder?"

"Tell me what I missed."

"Well, there was a case with a butt-genie that you would  
have found absolutely hilarious and another that was  
straight out of Terminator."

"That's not what I meant and you know it. Tell me about  
this." He put his hand on her belly. "Was it hard for  
you? What were you doing the first time you felt her  
move?"

"I was getting dressed to go to your funeral."

* * *

It had been like this since he'd been home; they would  
banter and flirt as easily as during the best days of their  
partnership and then, bam, she'd hit him with a statement  
that hurt worse than anything they'd done to him on that  
spaceship. Metaphorically, anyway. 

Actually, he had few memories of what had been done to him;  
there were small scars around the outer edges of his face,  
large ones down his chest, and rings around his ankles and  
wrists. Compared to the autopsy photos of a kid named  
Gary that he'd found stashed in Scully's briefcase, he was  
amazingly healthy and whole. Still, he knew he'd been in  
bad shape. 

On his first night home from the hospital he woke to  
screaming. Scully was sitting in bed beside him gasping  
for air. She was out of bed and in the kitchen warming  
milk before he could reach out to touch her.

"You okay?"

"I'm fine, Mulder. Go back to bed."

"You've been having nightmares again?" They'd been routine  
after her abduction and after Emily. By the time they  
became lovers, she was sleeping better; so was he.

"Yeah, since the fall. They say pregnant women have vivid  
dreams."

"So these dreams are about the baby?"

"Sometimes," she said deliberately. "Mostly, they're about  
what they did to you." 

 

* * *

Her mood generally lightened after a nap. She shuffled out  
of the bedroom and rested her head on Mulder's shoulder.  
He was watching a movie that featured an actress who looked  
remarkably like her, only her hair was brown. He shifted  
and she lay down with her head on his thigh. It amazed him  
how well they fit together, even with the baby.

"I had the weirdest dream," she said.

"You know I took a class on dream interpretation at  
Oxford?"

"Do you read Tarot cards, too?"

"Freud says that a dream is the fulfillment of a wish."

"Mulder says that a dream is a question we haven't learned  
how to ask yet."

"So, was this a bad dream or a good dream, Dr. Scully?"  
The muscles in her back tightened beneath his hand. She  
sighed.

"I don't really wanna talk about it."

"You're the one who brought it up. If you didn't want to  
talk about it, then why?" He felt her jaw clench against  
his thigh.

"Fine, Mulder. I dreamed I was at your funeral and Doggett  
and Skinner were singing 'Amazing Grace.' I mean, it was  
exactly like the funeral in Raleigh, complete with me  
throwing up in the car, except for the singing."

"Oh."

"Does that sound like a wish fulfilled?"

"No, Scully. It sounds like a question you don't want to  
ask."

"Can we not do this? I'm so tired, Mulder. I just wanna  
sleep."

"Okay, Scully. Just sleep." His warm hand worked its way  
under her t-shirt and rubbed at the small of her back.

"Mmmmm."

"Scully, what's this?" He was fingering her newest scar, a  
two-inch circle on her spine. Then he tugged the t-shirt  
out of the way and saw the jagged red line just below the  
collar. "Jesus, what the fuck happened to you?"

"Jesus. No kidding."

"Excuse me?"

"Nothing, Mulder. Forget I said anything. If you'll  
excuse me, I think I'm going to lie down."

* * *

It wasn't difficult to figure out. Since the fire almost  
three years ago, she'd kept copies of every case file on  
her hard drive, as well as their office computer. After  
some vague report, written by Doggett, about a man-bat, he  
found a vaguer discussion, written by Scully, about an  
encounter with a cult who worshipped a slug. Although she  
hadn't been able to examine the creature thoroughly,  
Doggett concurred that it had been several inches in  
length, at least one inch in diameter, and it had lodged in  
her spine for a period of several hours. She sustained  
significant blood loss after Doggett extracted the creature  
from her back using a pocketknife. If he hadn't done so,  
the report claimed, the creature would have attacked her  
brain and eventually killed her. Jesus. 

* * *

When Mulder went into the bedroom to wake Scully for the  
second time, she was curled on her side, a pillow under her  
knee and a hand on her belly. He recognized the position  
from the books he'd been reading, a resting pose for labor.

"Scully, you awake?"

"Yeah, we both are."

Mulder ran his hand through the strands of her newly-long  
hair and sighed deeply. She threaded her fingers through  
his and set it on her abdomen, right over the place the  
baby was kicking. "Kid's got rhythm," he said.

Scully smiled. "You read the file, huh?"

"Yeah. I'm sorry I pushed you. It's just. . . so much  
happened while I was gone." He kissed his way up her spine  
and nuzzled the scar at the nape of her neck. "I guess we  
both carry a lot of scars."

Scully touched the fading scars on his face. "Yes, we do."

"This baby, Scully, she's going to depend on us for  
everything."

"What are you saying, Mulder?"

"What if we're TOO scarred?"

"Are you asking if we're too emotionally and  
psychologically damaged to raise a child?" She propped  
herself up against the pillows and pillowed his head with  
her breasts. "I'd like to think we'll be better parents  
because of what we've been through. It's okay, Mulder.  
We'll heal."

"We're going to need some pretty big bandages," he said,  
absently scratching his chest.

* * *

"Are you sure you should be doing that?" he asked, spotting  
her. They were back at Scully's apartment and she was  
perched, awkwardly, on a small stepladder in the guest  
room.

"You got my back?"

"Always."

"Then I'll be fine."

"Seriously, Scully. Isn't there some rule about pregnant  
women not lifting more than 20 pounds?"

"What are you, Dr. Spock?"

"That's Mr. Spock, Scully. And what does he know about  
having babies?" She smiled a genuine smile, and he knew  
that she knew he was kidding.

"Here, can you get this one?" She climbed down the ladder  
and pointed at a box in the far corner. Mulder shook his  
head.

"What are you smiling at? I'm too short to reach it," she  
said.

"Whatever." He set the box on the bed. "So what are you  
looking for, anyway?"

"Unless it's in my mother's basement, which is a distinct  
possibility, I've got an old biology book in here from  
college. I wanted to look over a few things."

"You've got old biology books taking up half the shelf  
space in the office."

"When I was a sophomore, I took a class on fish, actually.  
I thought I'd read up on species indigenous to Florida--you  
know, before we go away." She opened the box and pulled  
out books one at a time. Mulder turned them over in his  
hand before he responded, picturing Scully hunched over her  
tattered copy of Gray's Anatomy in the library, glasses  
slipping off her nose.

"I thought you said that was a bad idea."

She shrugged. "Salt water has lots of healing properties.  
And I *really* like taffy. Ah, here we go: 'Species  
Profiles: Life Histories and Environmental Requirements of  
Coastal Fishes and Invertebrates.'" She opened it up and  
started thumbing through the index. Mulder smoothed his  
hands along her back and rubbed his knuckles against her  
belly.

"You'll have time for that later," he said, taking the book  
from her hands and placing it back in the box. Pushing her  
down on the bed, he pulled up her blue sweater and traced  
the stretch marks below her navel. Then he kissed the old  
surgical scar above it.

"Can you imagine what I'd look like if I need a c-section?"  
She ran her index finger down his nose and thumbed his  
lower lip.

"It'll give you more character. And you'll get to say  
things like, 'do you know what I went through to have you?'  
when the kid's sixteen and we catch her smoking cigarettes  
in the backyard." He pulled her sweater back down and  
kissed her, then rested his chin on her abdomen. "So  
you're serious about this Florida thing?"

"Sure. I want to see the look on Doggett's face when I  
tell him we're going ghostbusting on vacation."

"Do I get to pick out your bathing suit?"

"In your dreams, Mulder. In your dreams."

**Author's Note:**

> This story came out of a Scullyfic improv. The elements are as follows: Doggett singing "Amazing Grace";Scully fighting back an upset tummy; M and S and six custard-filled, chocolate donuts and two large coffees from Dunkin Donuts; M and S taking the Ghost Tour in St. Augustine Florida; Scully looking up something in one of her old college textbooks. (I tried *really* hard to avoid the dream sequence cop-out but ultimately couldn't do it any other way).
> 
> Information about the Ghost Tour is available at  
> http://www.halifaxmagazine.com/oct99/haunts.htm 
> 
> I wasn't kidding about Beauregard; check out  
> http://www.staugustine-ripleys.com/museum.html


End file.
